


A Gift from Fate

by Samwiches



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Bonding, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Holy Grail War (Fate), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loyalty, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samwiches/pseuds/Samwiches
Summary: Life at the best of times is cold, unkind, even cruel. A Holy Grail War is not the best of times. But maybe together, these two broken souls can find a reason to overcome life's burdens in the midst of war?
Relationships: Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> I would like personally thank my beta, valancyjane74, for editing this chapter. Every time she touches even a piece of my work, I feel it is elevated to another level thanks to her skill, and dedication. She is an amazing writer, and wonderful friend! Do find her work here and enjoy it as much as I do if not more!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancyjane74/pseuds/valancyjane74

The burn on the back of Haley’s hand was a signal for a change she had not been expecting. Her cerulean eyes had been fixated on the three swirling scarlet marks intertwined into a triangle for what felt like hours—but it had only been a few minutes. 

It was then her heart trembled.

Tears filled her eyes and her hands shakily worked for the burner android phone hiding within her tattered shorts pocket. There was only one person on the other side of that line who could guide her through this—who could give her the honest answers that would make or break her existence once again. 

Briscella’s British accent was energetic as always, packed full with charismatic energy that lightened the heaviness of the brick-like load on her chest. The woman was at too far a distance, but any time conversing with her risked the safety of them both. The pristine Magus was advocating for the Psychic at the Magus Association and surely they were keeping watch on her. But this took precedence; and Haley would be lying if she were to say that speaking with the older woman was not a gift. 

“I-I haven’t had any time to prepare. No catalyst… and… I’m still on the run, so this could bring unnecessary attention… A war of Magi? It’s—asking to be found… What… what do I do?” The phone was convulsing from her tremors, as the Psychic turned her gaze to the large, tumbled over backpack. 

The thought had crossed her mind of one Heroic Spirit contained in the miniature novel hidden inside the knapsack. As nerve-wracking this all was, maybe she could find something relating to him. Or even use the book, but…

“According to what I’m getting from the… Association’s report… there are five Magi at this moment, all of whom are accounted for besides one, so you do have time to find a catalyst for whoever. Once you’re picked to be a Master, Haley, that’s it. You’re stuck. So if you choose to summon a specific Servant given your… exergen and special circumstances, it has got to be a Servant that’ll look past it which…” Briscella’s voice trailed off with concern, as if contemplating how to relay the message that Haley had begun formulating in her mind. “...Might not be many, if any.” 

Knees curling to her chest, Haley plucked absentmindedly at the sleeve of her sweater. It was dangerous, attempting to summon a Servant and then dispelling the news she had no interest in the Grail War. As her friend had rightfully warned: they could kill her—ditch her for a person more capable of receiving the Grail. It left her mind filling with increased dread and pulled her eyes closed with worry. 

“Now what you could do, is summon any Heroic Spirit, love, and just use your command seals to either break your contract with them or order their untimely end, which would then remove your status as Master, which—” 

“No.” Haley broke off the woman’s tangent quickly, the words horrifying her. She could not fathom doing something so indecent. It was an insult to the Heroic Spirits—to summon them just to write them off so quickly? It felt disgusting. There was no doing that.

There was a heavy sigh on the smartphone, then a pause before then the older woman continued, “Your third option, sweetheart, is to head to the church to seek asylum. They might be able to remove the command seals too, but that’s a grey area, from what I know. It also looks bad on you, but your reputation is in shambles anyway.” 

This decision Haley had on her plate was not at all appetizing. 

No matter what she did, the responsibility and sense of self-preservation that came with being a Master surfaced at the tip of the tide that represented her emotions. There was nothing left to do but ponder, and figure the best course of action to keep her life in check. She had to make the right play, or else the twelve years she’d spent protecting herself would be lost in the rift.

With the quilt beneath her packed, and the packages of take-out stuffed away in the plastic bag, Haley traversed the layers of pine, sunset colored leaves, and grassed edges. The forest was rich in fall colors; the freshness of nature grounded the telekinetic. The warm hue of the sky—peppered with the calls of the night and the symphony of the tranquil environment— further helped her come to grips with a choice.

As night overtook the day’s space, Haley found comfort in her sleeping bag. She mapped out her destination on her phone and popped her headphones in her ears. This would be over dangerously slower than it started—nevertheless, she would find the strength to grapple with her fate. 

When the uber left her at the end of the street the next day, time froze as the gloom of grey clouds hovered overhead. The waft of rain accumulated in her senses and nearly gave way to the turmoil residing deep in her being. 

Something was off-putting about her perception. Sucking in a reassuring breath, she strolled the short path of the upward hill to the Church setting at the top. The breeze was sharp, cutting into her plain jacket. Stray leaves danced in the crisp air.

The Church gave off an old vibe. It was tall, with large brown and gold doors positioned at the center of the pointed building. Window panes were decorated with Catholic images, and large steps lead to the massive entrance.

Haley stood a few feet away, her small hands shoved deep into her jean pockets. Maybe she was just being cowardly, but she couldn’t move her boots to bring her any closer. 

The world fell stagnant. Her breath refused to release. Were her hackles standing on end because she was cold—or because something felt terribly wrong somehow? 

“I… can’t do this,” she breathed, swiveling on her toes and turning tail like a mouse running from a cat. 

The only explanation for her unease was to emphasize the effect of the solely negative energy permeating from that small area. It felt disgusting, and violated every bit of her perception. There was no way she was going to be safe there. That was certain.

The first Grail War of America and this was the energy coming from a place to seek security? If that was what she was going to deal with—hiding from this farce of a war was the better option.

However, the Psychic now had no idea where she was going. The familiar aroma of salt water tickled her nose. If she followed the direction the wind carried her long, chestnut colored-hair, Haley would end up at the waterfront. To her right, though, that direction brought back memories she hadn’t dwelled on in quite some time of a person she hadn’t visited since her return to this part of the State a few years ago.

Haley followed the trail to the cemetery with her mother in mind. Maybe she could ask her for advice on what to do next. Only half-way down the sidewalk the rain glazed her skin. The cool tears from the sky soaked into her garments and brought a chill to her bones. 

Nothing could take her casual stroll down a worse path than the shadow she felt lurking in the trees that lined the sidewalks. Peering around, she realized the streets of the small city were empty. The rain must have chased away any civilians. 

“Oh no… Please...” If her hairs were standing on edge before, they were now sharp as knives as the wind ominously gusted behind her . 

It was pure instinct that turned her eyes in time to catch the glimmer of daggers flung her way. Haley tripped over her own two feet, but cast the blades away with her telekinetic energy; the sharp implements missing her by a mere sliver. 

Magic fueled her blood unhesitatingly, coloring her body with a cerulean glow. Haley instinctively retreated along the narrow path, towards the downtown area. People thrived there, regardless of rain—her pursuers would have to avoid her, no? Wasn’t it the rule of the Magus to keep their work secret? 

Gods, she prayed she was correct, because the cloaked figure travelling the neighborhood exhibited her speed (if not completely outmatched it). The dark shape blurred past, twirling through the houses and trees with a finesse that barreled more blades and knives, barely missing their mark; others nicking and tearing her already worn linens. 

The enhanced woman skidded to a stop, smacked upright by the Servant cutting her off; he instigated hand-to-hand combat that she knew nothing of how to counter. Immediately she tried to halt the caped, masked man’s left hand as it skimmed her cheek, while her waist screamed from the piercing it received.

Panicking, Haley recovered quickly enough, using a wave of energy to dispel her and her attacker in opposite directions. The dagger wedged into her torso was swiftly pulled out and redirected at the ghoul while she hurtled towards the civilians. 

The strange noises coming from the Heroic Spirit had her wrinkling her brows in confusion. The way he moved reminded her of a bat: sporadic, but honed and brisk. The masked man was athletic and his tactile moves cut her off at every turn. 

He knew her strategy—she needed to change it. 

Yet again, Haley had little time to implement a decisive change to the outcome of this chase. Too agile, too forward—the Heroic Spirit rocketed her about like a rag doll. The ground met her book-bag (cushioning the blow), and mud obscured her vision. Her only saving grace from the knife that missed her shoulder was the slippery slope; it dragged her down into an awkward roll. 

Curses left her mouth, just before the lanky foot colliding with her brow made her squeal like a pig. 

“You run—a feeble move. I would give in now. I do not mean to take your life, but you.” His voice was harsh and crude.

Haley smeared the mud from her side bangs, finally glimpsing in full the Servant before her. Bat-like he truly was, with a shaggy cape and hidden arms. His legs were skinny, and under the cloak was a skull mask. 

The man had to be of the Assassin class. He fit the bill with his unnerving outfit, but what befuddled Haley more was his absurd declaration. “You… what…? No way! I’d be insane to go with an enemy Servant!” 

Not ready for any more chatter, Haley bolted again, feeling his disgruntled stare boring into her. 

“Why…? Just leave me alone!! I don’t have a Servant, I don’t want anything to do with this!” her begging really was pathetic of her, she thought, as she dodged another barrage of dirks. 

No time—no way out. Haley maneuvered through the sheeting rain, casting away the Servant with a heaving breath and another outlay of her mental energy. Behind her were houses. She could knock on a door, but when she gazed about in a brief moment of respite, she realized there was a barrier hiding their every move. 

“Crap, crap…! I’ve been sealed in from the start… going in circles…!” Haley gasped, her lungs on fire from the constant movement. Avoiding the man was no longer an option. She was to fight it—but defeating a Servant?!

The Assassin dropped directly in front of her quivering frame. “You realize this is futile, yet you ready your stance. I do not understand you.” 

Shaking her head, the woman stalled, trying to come up with some sort of plan to end this. “I have to try!” 

Haley wanted this to be over. The only weapons she knew of were the scattered blades of the Assassin. Her enhancement magic could strengthen her fists and feet, but would it be enough? As long as the Servant was in her eyesight she could keep him still, to prolong her chance of devising a plan. In retrospect, she needed... help.

The Servant tried to strike her: she felt it against her psyche as the Heroic Spirit cryptically cracked his head sideways. “You… what… you do?” 

“Yeah, you’re not moving… If I can’t fight you, then I can least keep you the hell away from me.” The squeak in her voice did little to hide how dubious she was of her own declaration. This was a _Servant…_ not some run-of-the-mill Magus she was up against… her hold would only last so long.

“Hmm… moving things with your mind.” The Assassin contemplated; Haley was running on little time. 

_What… am I to do…? Ack…!_ Just as expected, her power was quickly faltering. The magic prowess of a Servant pushed against her hold, testing her mental capacity. His movements were slow, but successful in edging their way past her mind and giving her an immense headache. 

Haley came to the worst conclusion. 

_I can’t… do this… somebody… help..._

———————————

This realm was never quiet. For what felt like an eternity, haunting memories assaulted the Spirit floating in the vast space. Above, the ring of silver taunted him. it laughed at his inability to change his fate. it mocked his failure to reach it.

_Useless Servant. A beast._ Yeah, that’s exactly what he was; given his eyes were still coated in crimson, the bloodied tears indicating his useless attempt to defend his honor. The gaping hole in his chest reminded him of the loyalty he had never attained. 

Thus—the Heroic Spirit remained in this limbo of a pathway between the Throne and the Grail. His grudge held disturbingly close to his heart. 

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne will never forgive them. Any of them. 

“Oh~ is that so? Are you sure?” A woman’s light voice carried like a summer breeze. It was warm, but tinged with mild admonition. 

The Lancer closed his beet-red eyes. This was the first time he’d been assailed by voices that were not the appalling, torturous memories of his two previous lives. 

Something bright flashed to the left of his floating body. It sprang to life with images of a long-haired woman as she frantically attempted to escape a shadowy figure. The fallen Knight scoffed, uninterested in whatever plagued the war of the living.

The girl’s earth-shattering scream bounced off the non-existent walls of the magical charcoal abyss. 

“Stay away from me! Just leave me alone!” Her vocals were pitched obnoxiously high, making Diarmuid wince. 

Cracking open an eye, he spied the triviality of the woman desperately fighting a Servant on her own. Somehow, she managed to bring an array of the Servant’s scattered weapons against him. The Knight knew not how she contrived such a feat—she managed to draw blood, however…

She side-stepped, slipping to the unmatched Heroic Spirit’s speed. She fell on her rear, with the Assassin closing in like a hawk on its prey—talons at the ready.

“Stop!” 

“Tell me, Diarmuid o' Dyna...” The other woman’s voice eerily cut in. “Does leaving a woman helpless bode well with your chivalry?”

Chivalry. a Knight’s honorable code. A code which Diarmuid had sworn to uphold—an ethos which had been thoroughly trampled by the very humans from whom he had accepted the Throne of Heroes call. Why would he throw himself in the line of fire once again?

“Someone… anybody… Please—” The desperation laced in the woman’s cracking voice caused him to glance once more at the vision before him. “…Please... help me…” 

The Knight let his eyelids fall as he exhaled through his nostrils.

———————————

Haley had tried. She really had. The way the Assassin maneuvered through the layers of his own weapons sprung against him by her powers sank any chance she had at victory.

Her heart throbbed hard against her ribcage. In front of her, the Servant closed the gap between them. She would be taken to whomever this bastard’s master was, and there was nothing she could do. 

Defeated, sprawled out in the mud, and drenched with sweat (despite the cold) she begged to no one. “Someone… anybody please… please… help me…” Her eyes squeezed shut as the Assassin was a few inches away—

Pain riveted in the slender woman’s left hand. She clasped the bright seals that illuminated drastic magic—magic that she could never construct on her own. “What the!” 

Glorious white light broke apart the rain, magic spinning circles of Haley’s hair. She blocked her eyes from the superstorm of monstrous energy. It swirled—manifesting the figure of a tall male who immediately charged forward. 

Two spears: one longer than the Heroic Spirit holding them and cardinal red; the other, smaller and golden like the sun. Both spears twirled with ferocity, colliding against the Assassin and forcing him away from the dumbfounded woman. 

Haley gawked in disbelief. “That’s!!” It seemed impossible. She didn't have a summoning circle, nor any catalyst (though that was less problematic); but clearly the man standing before her was a Servant. She had to use her enhancement magic to track his astounding precision with his weaponry. 

The Assassin—clearly overwhelmed by the Servant (cloaked in a green spandex tunic)—gritted his teeth, barely blocking the double-striking blows. 

“Hmm. It is quite cowardly of you to attack a Lady when she is undefended,” the dark haired man stated. His words were displeased, but his voice was calm and smooth, Haley noted. He readied his lances at his side once more. 

The man hidden in black leaped far between them. “I have failed. My orders… were to retrieve the girl… _chyeeahh_!” he then dissipated, breaking down his physical form into a dark dust. 

Shaking his raven locks from side-to-side, the man whispered, “So he chooses to flee...after all the trouble he’s caused.” 

Droplets of rain streamed down the Lancer’s stalwart build. He said nothing, keeping his taut back turned towards her as Haley gathered her thoughts and felt the magical fortification collapse. 

Eyelids drooping, the Psychic hugged her torso. None of this went as anticipated. She was supposed to find a safe haven in the church—to wait out the war’s end and return to her life in hiding from the bounty. She never intended on summoning a Servant. it was overly complicated, and yet there he was—getting soaked and refusing to look at her. 

It was all too much. These past two days were insanely stressful and now she would be overwhelmed by fighting six other Servants for an omnipotent device; a device she did not want or could trust, given past Wars. How was she going to explain to this man the hell that was her existence—and that he was to be along for the bumpy ride? 

Haley resisted the urge to cry. Whoever this Heroic Spirit was—he was going to be utterly disappointed in his new Master. Maybe, _hopefully_ , this Servant would at least entertain the idea of severing their pact so he could find a more suitable person to bring the Grail, he would hopefully listen to her pleas for the gift to keep her life. 

Finding her feet through her fits of shivers, the Psychic stood, as the Servant turned his head to peer over his shoulder. 

“I must commend your effort and success in holding out for as long as you did against the Assassin,” he stated simply, dematerializing his spears. “You are wounded.”

Flicking down her blue-eyed gaze, the brunette hovered her palm over the crease in her gut, feeling the majority of her wounds magically sealing themselves back together. She may not be a good Magus, but healing was her specialty. That—and healing injuries as subtle as these compared to a history of much worse horrors, had her forgetting she had even received lacerations. 

Sighing, Haley turned her regard from the Heroic Spirit. She looked down to her toes as she thought on what to do what to even say. All she knew was that she was miserable. 

“Thank you for… saving me,” she managed to choke out with as much sincerity she could muster, officially drained and watered-down. “We… should probably find a place to talk… If, if you want, why don’t you take spirit form until then? Both of us don’t have to be drenched from the rain.” 

Silently, Haley looked up from underneath her lashes at the Servant, who offered her suggestion a light nod, before he disappeared in emerald flurries. He was a quiet one, she surmised, adjusting the straps of her mangled backpack. 

The Psychic felt like a ghost slowly and aimlessly drifting through the world, plagued with grief. Her clothes were in shreds, her mind in shambles. The shops of the downtown area were vacant aside from a few customers. She took the moment to enter a clothes shop and purchased her replacements. 

The task of wandering through her favorite apparel emporium succeeded in turning on the lightbulb idea of a location where Haley could collect herself; she rapidly turned tail to quickly travel there since it was such a short distance away.

In the downpour, the massive three-story structure brought the weakest of smiles to her countenance. The elementary school brought back nothing but pleasant moments. Given that it was the weekend: it should give her some time to collect her barrings..

Sliding through one of the windows, Haley blew a raspberry and surveyed the familiar halls. The walls were lined with pictures of students, teachers, and classwork. She grazed her fingers over the plaster, admiring how little the school had changed in—what, twenty-one years since she’d been there? 

Choosing a classroom, tossing her soaked clothes to the side and throwing on a t-shirt with jeans and some sneakers, Haley collapsed tiredly into one of the tiny chairs of a large desk. “Lancer… are you here?”

Haley cocked her head as the Heroic Spirit materialized, kneeling before her. His head hung low, turned slightly to the left, his golden eyes transfixed on the wooden floors. He possessed a quirky strand of hair (one that didn't pull back with the rest of his locks) that constantly rested at the bridge of his nose. Despite his dull expression, the man was quite handsome. 

But why was he settled in a pose that suggested she was someone superior? Haley propped her chin on her knuckles, elbows keeping her upright. “Hi.” 

Hi? Really? What the hell was she doing? 

The Knight’s stare remained vacantly trained on the floor, leaving the woman feeling uneasy. Why wouldn’t he look her in the eye? Had she offended him somehow? Did she really suck that much?

“Hello,” he answered back. “How are you…” his pause only added to all the questions Haley had swelling in her heart. “faring?” 

Haley released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Despite her hair trying desperately to dry, and her body slowly recovering its warmth, she felt okay. “I'm okay, I think. Thanks for asking. So… there's a lot to discuss and I have no idea where to start,” she chuckled, trying to relieve whatever tension was lingering in the air. “But I think… our names should probably be a good place. So, I’m Haley, just uh… Haley.” 

“Indeed. I am Diarmuid ua Duibhne, your Lancer class Servant, who is here to serve you.” 

Chin lifting slightly from her fist, the Psychic’s mouth opened slowly. Were her ears playing tricks on her? Was this some sort of joke? It was too impossible, the chances were so strictly low. He couldn’t be… there was no way.

“What?” she muttered incredulously. 

The Lancer’s expression fell grim by her question; she immediately felt terrible for expressing her shock. “Are you… familiar with my tale, Master?” 

Azure eyes slanted to her backpack, then back to the Servant. “I… yeah. I know it very well.” 

The Heroic Spirit did well at masking his disposition. However, Haley had the ability to sense intentions and it pained her deeply to be aware of his resolve to conceal his emotions from her. It merely begged the question _why_ , but furthered her desire to simply end this pact and ditch this war.

Diarmuid nodded at her omission, leaving nothing but question marks spinning in her mind. Those punctuation marks were quickly replaced by exclamation points as an extremely pressing matter associated with this specific Spirit slapped her in the face.

The stupid, tear-drop mole under his right eye! It had a charm spell and that magic did nothing but bring this man a tragic end, in the stories she loved. Of course he’d be guarded around her! She was a _woman_ and he was probably weary of what that entailed, especially since he had already had to come to her drastic rescue. 

“And since I do, I think it’s important to tell you that your love spot won’t affect me,” Haley started, pushing out of the chair and mirroring the Knight on his knee before her. “So… it’s okay to look at me.” 

Hesitation danced across Diarmuid’s quivering, valiant brow. His reluctance saddened Haley. Knowing his legend, trusting her must be a great struggle. When debating his summoning, she hadn’t really thought about how his past might drag down their partnership. Maybe suggesting to sever their ties would be beneficial for him. 

Finally meeting the Hero she read about so often was the only thing keeping her from speaking the idea. If only there was a way she could reassure him. “Hey… really, you don’t have to worry. Even though I'm not a proper Magus, I can cycle through the magic, and as a Psychic, my mind had mental barriers put up to keep things like that from warping it.” 

There was a brief hint of vulnerability—swept quickly under the rug—as Diarmuid finally lifted his sunny hue to her crystals. “Are you certain?” 

A smile crept its way onto Haley’s thin lips. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about crazy love geases here,” she splayed her hand over her heart. “I promise.” 

“Alright.” Was that relief in the way his shoulders relaxed and he held her stare? Finally, some sort of good sign. “Master, you said you were not a proper Magus. May I ask what that means, if I am not overstepping?

Overstepping? Well, at least he was polite but the way he regarded her was beginning to make her uncomfortable. He remained in a bowing position, and his tone indicated he was talking to someone who _demanded_ respect. Gross. 

“One, you are not overstepping. Feel free to ask me whatever you want, I don’t mind.” She plopped on her bum instead of on her haunches. “And two… yes… I… was brought up a Magus but didn’t really follow through with it… so my ability in that regard is kind of lacking…” 

If Diarmuid had any reservations about her lack of competence—he didn’t show it. That at least settled her nerves that he’d detest her for her lack of skill. She swallowed, thinking of that prospect. There was still an uncertainty that he—being a Servant—might attack her; it loomed over her like the dark clouds gathered outside. 

Rain pattered against the window glass, but it was the sound of a stomach rumbling that caught them both off-guard. 

Heat rose in Haley’s cheeks as she hid her face in her hands. “Oh gosh… that’s embarrassing.” 

Was that a chuckle? A hint of emotion coming from the stoic Knight? Haley wasn’t so sure given how strained their interactions had been; but she was certain that the mighty call of needing to eat was coming her way. 

“It is fine, Lady Haley. Why not take time to replenish yourself and we can discuss this later,” Diarmuid gently said. 

Haley nodded into her palms, gingerly rising to her feet and retrieving her bag. She had a snack or two in there, but the idea crossed her mind to see if there were still vending machines in the cafeteria, and maybe some refreshments in their fridges. 

“Oh, hey, I guess… while I get some food, you wanna maybe scope out the building? I… was attacked by a Servant so… I guess I’m a little…”

“Say no more,” Diarmuid’s interruption was not rude, but instead laced with eagerness. “I will return soon.” 

Haley couldn’t help but smile at his readiness. She nodded her approval, and he instantly broke down his physical body into spirit form. 

It was then that the woman exhaled. There was still so much she had to relent to her Heroic Spirit, and all of it was the negative bits that she feared would change his demeanor. He had been somewhat accepting of her thus far but if he knew all of the layers of the cake—would he still be able to handle the bite? She wasn’t so sure. After all, there were few if not any that would accept a woman who had a demanding bounty on her head. Right?

There was a lot riding on the shoulders of her being a Master. The question was: could she handle the weight? If she were being honest—she didn't believe in herself. 

Then there was Diarmuid. She _could_ place some sort of faith in him, couldn’t she? The man had taken down armies alone. What she loved most about all his fantastic stories was his loyalty to Fionn. Never, ever, did he waver. That whole Grainne tale was not in his control; and yet he tried, he really did, to remain true even if his situation didn't allow it. If the Irishman was here—serving her now—she presumed that would mean he’d offer her the same dedication, no?

With so many decisions requiring her attention in a single day, Haley collapsed at the lunch table with the school milk and protein bars. She dug out a small paperback book from her bag and beamed contentedly.

Even with all the uncertainty that surrounded her, this particular narrative mended her broken pieces. Of which she unfortunately had many, raked in the dust pan. Haley could only but hope that those fragmented parts wouldn’t be emptied into a trashcan, but instead would be valuable enough to attempt to glue together.


	2. Communication

_“I’ll never forgive you, any of you! Remember the rage of—”_

Sitting crossed legged on the school’s rooftop, that ghastly, shameful demonic look haunted his memory. The pitiful despair from the betrayal pained him. The memories plagued Diarmuid, and he was utterly confused. Should the Grail not have eradicated those events from his psyche? 

What was worse, was how _fresh_ they felt. He could still taste the hint of iron in his mouth. Still hear the vicious tone in the way Kayneth scolded and quite frankly—humiliated his very existence with his distaste of him. That smug, detested smile is still shockingly vibrant. Physically, his heart throbbed: a strange pain lingering from a blow directly to his chest from his believed Gae Dearg.

Was the voice in the Grail responsible for this? Diarmuid was unsure. What he was certain of, was that the woman’s whose call for help he answered, albeit reluctantly was… interesting. 

There was no hostility in her aura towards him like Kayneth’s. Dare the Servant say, she was the exact _opposite._ Intuition if correct, he’d suspect she was terrified of him. If not himself, then at least she was frightful of _something._ Thinking logically, she had just been attacked by an enemy Servant so maybe some of that was still dragging her down. He couldn’t quite figure it out. 

It was that very reason Diarmuid was eager she took time to restore herself while he inspected the parameters. He felt useful. It was also relieving to separate himself from discussing their collaboration when such disgraceful thoughts thrived in his fragmented mind. 

All that bitterness was difficult to suppress and it dragged his trust of this new Master through the mud. Diarmuid felt he had every right to be, given the circumstances. It was unfair maybe, but with his honor being trampled on _twice_ , what reasons did he have to believe this situation would be any different? A cornered person like how he felt the woman was—could do despicable things. Evidence was how he _died_ in Fuyuki’s Grail War.

Betrayed. 

So this time, Diarmuid felt it essential to persist being prudent. Even if it was in a fit of rage: he declared he’d never forgive any of those inhuman monsters that disregarded his pride as a Knight. So that he would. Insisted to not be caught off guard again. He expects nothing of this summoning, but will provide his services towards his duty as her Servant. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sighing, Diarmuid tilted his head back, his conflicted, honey gaze forced to blink away droplets of rain. That was the correct decision, was it not? The Irishman buried his face in his hands. “I… do not know what is right of me, anymore.” 

With the area clear of any dangers, and no threats seemingly on the way—he remained hunched over in his palms. The rain soothed his thoughts, and he wished it could wash away these emotions, these _memories._ This awful hate he had for fate being entirely cruel to him for no given reason. Truly, what had he done in that Grail War to warrant that end? To gain Kayneth’s hate? 

Sola-ui… but Diarmuid did not attempt to seduce the woman! He only spoke when spoken to. He followed his orders when given. Sure, he had attempted to cling to his chivalry that _one_ time against Saber. Fine, Kayneth wanted her gone, but he swore upon his honor he would retrieve her head! Why could he not understand? _Trust_ in his ability?

No, all the man could do was focus on his jealousy over a situation out of Diarmuid’s control. The woman took those command seals upon herself to return Kayneth’s dignity as a magus, so how could he deny her? He pledged himself to the man and all he was to do was bring him that glory back. It was not planned for her to be abducted.

Though, he would take responsibility for that blunder. He _never_ should have left the woman defenseless. Not in her state. He had despicably disgraced himself. Kayneth’s fury was expected and understood given the extreme circumstances. But to degrade him so far? To take his dignity and spit on it as he did? To send him into battle and—

“Arturia.” Her name tasted like lemon, as he whispered it. Sweet as can be, but sour given she had been manipulating him just the same. Diarmuid had nothing but respect for the woman—Perhaps even... fancied her—as she shared the same chivalrous codes as he. Or so he assumed, until she led him astray as her Master done whatever to force Kayneth to call his Suicide.

All this did was bring him around the circle’s he’d thought himself in. Why…? What had he done to be strangled by the shackles of fate so tight? To relive his life despite his wish against repeating that pain. _Why?_

Time ticked by, and Diarmuid had more questions than answers. More pitiful misery he guessed he’d earned somehow. At least in this life—there was nothing left that could shock him. There was some sort of resolve in knowing that, when this Master betrayed him—he at least held nothing in his heart that he wanted most.

Giving in to that resolution, the Knight stood. He glanced around his surroundings once more, mapping out the districts of the neighborhood. The ocean few streets down that had some vacant areas he’d presumed safe for battle. The opposite way bled into the city and he’d assumed that meant too many prying eyes.

It had been some time since his Master’s call, and he presumed it was best to check in on her. Her location hadn’t changed, but he did promise to return to her side once he deemed the location safe. If only there was merit to being there…

Shaking his head, the Heroic Spirit shifted into spirit form, and reappeared dry as freshly done laundry, where he felt the woman’s magical energy. It was a cafeteria. There were long, flat tables at the center, with matching stools beneath. A counter top not too far away with empty trays. It was vacant, quaint. Quiet, as he spotted his Master in the middle of it.

Stepping inaudibly, the Servant came to the Lady’s side. Haley—the woman—was sitting, her ear resting in the crease of her elbows that were crossed underneath her chin. Her long, dark mahogany hair spilled over the white table. At her side, crumpled wrappers a turned over milk carton lay.

A gentle smile crooked Diarmuid’s lips. They hadn’t been together long; but she seemed, tranquil, as her back slowly rose and fell while she slept. 

Well, as the situation was now, they wouldn't be continuing that conversation as anticipated. It seemed she needed rest. So he bent, and casually looked through her bag and found a small quilt. It would do, he sufficed, as he gingerly blanketed her shoulders. 

Now he was not entirely so sure what he should be doing aside from continuing his watch. His Master hadn’t ordered him to do much else. It was his duty as her Servant, anyhow. 

Taking a final glance at the slumbering woman, Diarmuid wandered to the wide glass windows and sat at the ledge. Rain pattered in answer, and Lancer watched the droplets accumulate as he thought once more what exactly it was that he wanted from this life. If anything at all.

——————————

Eyelids leisurely opening, Haley dragged her chin across her arm and then stretched. Well, she wasn’t expecting to fall asleep but it had been a stressful few hours—days, if the sunlight’s rays leaking through the windows meant anything. Wait, how long _had_ she been asleep!? 

Hands slipping into her jeans pocket, she plucked out her phone and looked at the date. “Well crap,” she muttered at the text displayed on the screen. It was now Sunday, so she had definitely dozed off into the next day. 

When she straightened upward, her coverlet slid off her frame. Eyebrows drawing together, the Psychic pondered when Diarmuid had blanketed her. Appreciation tugged at her heartstrings. Their collaboration was as clear as fog—but his chivalry was as transparent and pure like water. Folding the fabric, she tucked it away into her bag and called for him. 

The Irish Knight immediately appeared kneeling before her, eyes once again trained to the scraped floor. Haley still didn’t believe she was worthy of such courtly antics, but figured it’d be disrespectful to his honor to say anything. 

“You have called for me, my Lady?” The Heroic Spirit’s voice was flatter than a wrongfully sung note. Despite his genuine gesture with the blanket, he still remained stoic in demeanor. Maybe it was something out of respect—but there was still that lingering intent to remain reserved. Or stale as bread, whichever.

Which begged the question: Why was he so… different from what she had read about in Myth? 

Haley fidgeted where she stood, slightly unnerved by his aura but said, “We should talk about the Grail War.” Sighing at the simple nod he’d given her, she sat on the table top, tapping her feet repeatedly on the plank at her feet. 

It was nerve racking to admit that she merely wanted to avoid the entire war. What would this seasoned warrior think? He answered the Grail’s call to serve her for whatever wish resided in his heart, and she was about to shut it down. Would he think her a coward and abandon her? Do worse things? 

No, the very reason she even considered summoning him before he miraculously appeared was because she believed he would listen to her. This... version of himself might be a bit different than what she gathered from books but he was still the Loyal first Fenian Knight. She could trust him, had to. Or at least, find out what exactly he seeks from the Grail and find a solution, even if a part of her feared dangerous retaliation.

Inhaling a confidence boosting breath, Haley inquired, “What would you do… If I did not want to fight? If I… if I wanted nothing to do with the Grail and everything involved?”

It was dreadfully silent in the seconds it took for Diarmuid to raise his vacant stare and have it pin in her in place. The woman swallowed, a tremble finding her figure as she braced herself. 

“You—do not wish to fight?” He said rather curiously, than anything else. Though his orbs scanned Haley head to toe, causing her shrink into her shoulders as she shook her head no. 

Her top teeth found her lower lip, “I know… you might have a wish, and this might be upsetting to you but—” 

Diarmuid’s face—one she expected to be full of anger or chagrin—was only twisted in concern, “Master,” Diarmuid tripped over the words, that impassive disposition crumbling, “Are you… frightened of me?” 

Haley's heart sputtered faster than a jackrabbit’s. “Maybe… a little.” The squeak in her voice was tiny but clear, and she felt embarrassed because of it. 

Shoulders relaxing, Haley drew circles on her thigh. “I… I have been tip-toeing around you I know. And I’m sorry. It's just... since Heroic Spirits answer the call of the Grail because they have a wish, and since I want nothing to do with the Grail… I was informed the Servant might _kill_ me over that. I know you’re a loyal, valiant person but you've been so distant and different than what I’d expected that I don’t know what to think.” 

The tension in the air was severed so quickly by the way Diarmuid’s gaping mouth transformed into the most placid smile she’d ever seen. He stood and stepped closer to her then kneeled to take her shaking right hand into his palm in a gallant gesture.

“Lady Haley, fear not. I would _never_ concede harm to come to you. Not from our enemies, and for surely not from myself. Forgive me. For my actions have let such a foul idea settle within your mind.” Diarmuid’s timbre was so sincere, that Haley’s heart melted like butter in a hot pan. 

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, “You mean that?” 

“I swear on my honor as a Knight, my Lady, my word is true.” His resolute statement gave way to an appreciative hug. Diarmuid jerked and stiffened, before he let one arm fall over her shoulder. “It’s alright, you are safe.”

Pulling away, Haley wiped at the wetness on her cheeks, “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me. I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

There was a glimmer in those honey orbs that the heartfelt woman almost missed when she pulled away and sat herself once again on the table. A subtle smile perked Diarmuid’s lips. “You need not apologize. I can see why you would be weary. Please... do not cry.” 

The smallest of abashed giggles left her lips, “Okay, no more tears. This whole thing has just… been a lot. Will you—will you sit next to me?” Haley patted the surface of the table on her left. 

The familiar uncertainty Diarmuid exhibited prior rebounded. Softening her expression, Haley tried once more, “Please?”

Lancer’s golden hue impaled the spot next to her with deep contemplation. As if battling some sort of internal war that raged on. But Haley understood, and would patiently wait and accept whatever his choice may be. Clearly there were things he struggled with, and hopefully, he could find she would be there to listen if need be. But for now, she just hoped he’d—

Throat bobbing, Diarmuid took a creaking seat, his legs rising so he could rest his feet on the chair attached below. Man, he was tall. But she was not too much shorter, she’d come to notice. 

A thanks promptly followed along with a dragging silence that left her stumbling for words. “Are… you sure you’re okay with this? You don’t… have a wish?”

Her Servant’s orbs reflected something like sorrow as he looked away. It was a simple question that was usually laid out between Master and Servant, but it only felt like it was a burden to him.

“I…” Jamming his eyelids shut, Diarmuid sighed. It was the deepest level of vehemence Haley saw this man convey and it made her heart clench tight. She recognized that emotion as she related to it so well.

Hurt.

Her Servant was hurting. 

The idea was not so far-fetched. If only she could pin-point exactly what it was that had him so haggard. The Psychic contemplated asking but... she could be reading into his disposition entirely wrong. It wasn't worth the risk at this very moment, but if time proved her to be correct: she'd at least try to help alleviate whatever weighed him down.

Diarmuid went silent, dropping his head to look at his feet as if his green spandex had the answers to her question. For a few beats, Haley could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. His expression turned serious and he finally leveled his gaze with hers. “I have no desire for the Holy Grail. I am simply here to serve you whether you have interest in the Grail or not.” It was a matter-of-fact statement.

He was here to serve her? That’s— _it?_ What would the Irishman even get out of that? There had to be more to that proclamation—but given how he’d been towards her—Haley suspected that would require more pressing.

The question was if she should. Obviously, the man was battling _something_ internally now that she was beginning to piece together his actions. All of the confusion that was Diarmuid aside, a part of her was happy. If there was really nothing more to his being here than that, then—

There was a slight sliver of hope building. A chance once the walls Diarmuid had up came down, she could actually get to know the man from legends she adored. She just needed to take that next step: jump the leap of faith. Until she found them in the right place to do that, she’d probe the statement that still lingered in the air.

“That’s it? Your desire to serve was that strong you answered the Grail’s call?” 

Lancer studied her for a moment as if attempting to ascertain the worth of stating something before casting his gaze to the ceiling with a look almost forlorn, “Indeed. I need not the Grail in hand to defend my honor and serve loyally, and for that loyalty to be returned.” 

Haley’s response caught in her throat before a gentle smile grasped her lips. That simple sentence explained their few hours of interaction. Why the Knight was so repressed. This entire time—all she had been doing was focusing on her grief and fear and the _respectable_ parts of Diarmuid’s life. 

However, his tale is known as a tragic one. Yes, there were incredible feats accomplished, and the man was a noble warrior; but he also had been left to die by the man he swore to swerve and held dearly close to his heart as a friend. She’ll never forget the tears she shed when reading his end. 

If his death haunted him the way it did her—then of course he would be guarded. 

“I get that,” she decided to say, “And I can get behind it. I’m not sure… the best way to go about it if we aren’t going to participate. I can at least be loyal to you and if there something I can do to help you serve: Tell what to do I’ll try my best.” 

Was that… appreciation catching the handsome features of the Irish Knight? “Master, that… thank you. Truly.” A hint of a smile? Haley’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. 

Drawing her knees to her chest, the Psychic spied the bright window. There was still so much more to say, and yet she couldn’t find the way to tell him. Now that it was clear he would protect her, and while she finally felt safe in her surroundings, there was still the matter of her bounty.

A part of her wanted to keep that situation locked tightly away in the box and throw it deep in the ocean. In spite of that, hiding anything would put a damper in the progress they had just made. Diarmuid was finally _besides_ her, instead of treating her like some sort of distant queen. He finally spoke more than three words to her. 

So telling Lancer the reality of their situation was anything but desired, but he needed to know. It was imperative to their survival. If he didn’t know there would be people targeting her for the bounty—that outcome might end in both of their deaths. So Haley readied herself and just hoped...

That her favorite legend would still remain by her side.

—————————

It was strange that Diarmuid even bothered to enlighten the woman on his deepest wish. In truth, hearing her earnestly beg for assistance had aided in persuading him to appear in the human world again. Somehow was enough to summon him. He had not expected her to ask nor care about what he’d yearn for once he rescued her. Though when she had inquired so genuinely about his motivations; he’d told the unspoken truth. 

And she hadn’t belittled him for it. Her immediate offer to bring his wishes to fruition even more astounding. This situation was not as expected. 

Haley was definitely _not_ like Kayneth, just as he surmised. While that man was grossly-arrogant, this woman was sweetly timid. He instantly felt remorse when the woman voiced her concern of being betrayed for not wanting to involve herself in the Grail War. 

The Irishman had been so focused on the turmoil of his past and not allowing her his trust, he’d involuntarily given her the impression she had to question him. Assuming he’d kill her was a stretch—especially for one of his nature—but after what he had experienced in Fuyuki’s War, her fears were justifiable. 

At least she might mean well. She seemed sincerely apologetic for their misunderstanding. Even shed tears for it. That was a positive thing, was it not? He had watched her intently, seeing if maybe this heavy onset of hysterics was because of his lovespot but… despite it all, those lovely ultramarine eyes did not resemble that of Grainne's or Sola-ui's. 

Now he sat next to her—remaining a bit dubious—and not quite certain what to think of it all or how to instruct on the matter at hand. If they both had no interest in the Grail, but his Master wanted to give him opportunity to serve her, “I presume you shall still be in danger given you are a Master,” he inclined his head to the blaring red command seals that glared at him, “I shall fulfill my duty to protect you from enemy Servants and Masters, and do whatever else you might need until it concedes.” 

The woman glanced at the back of her left hand, “That makes sense… eventually we’ll have to fight, though, right?” She’d looked up at him then, worry glistening in her eyes, “Eventually it’ll only be us and whoever is left of the 6 others. Unless… do you think it’s possible that eventually they’ll team up to find us?”

Diarmuid pondered on the possibility. It would not be out of the question. When Caster had committed his atrocities in the previous war, the Church had requested the fighting cease unless he was defeated. Though, Lancer hadn't yet disclosed he participated in Japan's war. 

Should… he tell her? What purpose would it serve if they weren’t going to fight, anyway? No, he’d keep that information tucked away for a little while longer. He still needed to figure out exactly what it meant, anyhow. Rather tell her everything when he understood it better. Until then, “It is in the realm of possibility. Whether it be now or later, eventually we will have to do something to end the War.” 

Nodding, the woman nestled her lip under her teeth, “Right. Well, until then… there is something I have to tell you.” Haley swallowed so hard Diarmuid didn’t need his supernatural hearing to catch it. 

Quite unsettled as she was, “Go on,” he replied, waiting for her to find her words.

“I don’t know if you noticed but, I’m homeless.” His interest perked. He had not noticed though he was not quite paying attention. Diarmuid also presumed it was due to the nature of their situation that led her to find shelter before returning home. “And it’s because since I was a teenager I…” 

Diarmuid waited as she hesitated. He knew all too well what that felt like—and whatever was to come next—her tone implied it was a burden to speak about. It actually made him think it should be shared later, or not be told at all given how troubled she looked. 

So he took the initiative, “Master, if what you are to speak is too difficult, might you tell me at a later time when you are more comfortable?”

Haley rocked back and forth, “It is but unfortunately it affects you, too. So you have to know.” 

His eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing as she continued, “I… have a bounty that has _many_ people looking for me.” 

A bounty. Well, now Diarmuid was at a loss for words. What would this woman have done to warrant a bounty on her head? Then again, not every bounty is earned. Some are placed because of jealousy, or spite. (One of which he knew too well). Clearly there had to be more to this proclamation, and thankfully, she elaborated soon after. 

“Now, this bounty was… wrongfully placed by my obsessive father.” And some were thrown on unlucky individuals caught by a fanatical person. It seems this fit her bill, and Diarmuid felt for her. “Without getting into the nitty gritty details… for years he... _tortured me_.” 

His head whipped to study her face for any hint of a lie, but all he found was this agony that filled her countenance. Torture? He could only imagine what the details of that statement were, and he felt terrible she had fallen to it. “Master… that… I have no words.”

Haley wrapped her arms around her torso, as if reliving the very horrors shed faced as she elaborated the important details. Her admittance shredded his heart at the cruelty she’d experienced to strengthen her psychic abilities and healing. 

She had but one friend through the madness that almost broke her. An Assistant to her father—who had helped her train a special, cognitive ability to use when they had her escape plan completed. “However one day, my father escalated. He said he was to make his woman, and I fought desperately against him before he could… get what he wanted. I used the mind control to get him to stop, but my wording was off. I insisted he stay away from me but—that didn’t mean he couldn’t have others come after me. I’ve been running away for years—using illusion magic and help from my friend—to remain hidden but now…”

“Now the Grail War put you in danger of being discovered.” Diarmuid concluded for her, and she nodded her head in response. 

“That is now _our_ situation. And…are you okay with that? Or… would you want to sever our pact so you won’t have a situation so similar to that Grainne nonsense you were dealt?”

She looked at him expectantly, but with this desperate, determined look in her eyes. All of which coinciding with the lot of information Diarmuid had to process. She had proposed a choice to return to the Throne of Heroes, or at the very least—find another Master. That was what ending their pact entailed. 

This heavy and long conversation drew parallels to his true life, and his Master had pointed it out in confidence. As if telling him with that very statement she understood how painful such a thing like that would be for him. How could someone experiencing what she was—have his interests even be considered? It was an unfathomably kind thing for her to do.

Diarmuid couldn’t return to the Throne. Not after he’d sworn to keep her safe. In retrospect, he did not know _this_ was what that meant, but he was a man of his word. Dare he say he _wanted_ to be her Knight. Oh how the tables had turned.

Turning his body at an angle so he could completely face her on the furniture, he bent his right arm over his chest. “I have sworn on my honor as a Knight to serve you, and that I shall uphold. I believe it to be in your best interest to accept… I imagine your safety being that much more in jeopardy should you not have a Servant at your side, My Lady. However, the choice is yours, and I will harbor no ill will to whatever you decide.” 

His Master rolled her lips together, but she was beaming. There was enthusiasm she had been lacking until now in the way she gazed at him. “Lancer… thank you. You are amazing. Then, will you stay?”

“Of course.” Diarmuid leaned forward, drawing his eyes to a close as he bowed his head. “I am your Knight to command.” 

Haley chuckled, and it was this light, sweet sound that filled his ears. When had he gotten used to the pitch that was her voice? “You can be my Knight. But—if we do this, I want us to work together. So, no commanding you.” She held out her hand to shake, and Diarmuid looked at it questioningly, “Diarmuid, you’re free to do as you wish so long as it’s within reason. Deal?”

Diarmuid contemplated her suggestion. He was to be... _free?_ This woman was full of surprises. No Master would do such a thing. The smallest part of him was skeptical of her declaration, while the rest—chuffed by his Master’s kindness. Could she actually be trusted? Worthy of dare he say it, his loyalty? 

Not a proper Magus indeed.

He gripped her hand in his, almost swallowing the fragile thing in his large one. “I am uncertain of how you suppose I shall do such a thing, but… Deal.” 

The woman was radiating happiness, shaking his hand emphatically before giving it a release. “Easy! For starters, _talking._ You don’t have to wait for my orders or whatever to say something, or be somewhere. You can tell me if you like something, or hate it. You could tell me if there is a place you’d like to see. The possibilities are endless~!” 

To Diarmuid’s shock, the woman displayed an energy she hadn’t shown before. My, had her demeanor changed. Was this because she was more comfortable after he laid out he would not even think to harm her? 

She then leaped off the table, and spun in his direction. “Just be you, okay?” 

“I...ah…” Diarmuid ruffled the hairs creeping down his neck from his raven locks. “Alright. I shall be more...forward.”

Slapping her hands together, Haley radiated nothing but contagious delight, “Perfect! Lancer, you won’t regret it! Promise!”

Relenting to the smile tugging at his lips, Lancer felt uplifted for the first time since his summoning. Never had he suspected that rescuing the young woman would bring about, well this. However, part of him still worried. 

A person with her troubles could still betray him if the right situation presented itself. Diarmuid wanted to bury the apprehension with the rest of his grievances, but those painful memories still bashed him at every turn. He refused to allow his heart to bear such pain again. 

But there was hope, hope that the generosity she had given him was authentic. That somehow, someway, he could finally fulfill his duty as a Knight. _And damn it all, I will be guarded but... I shall give this brief life an actual chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't painfully long or boring. It is important details between the two that needed to be said given how dreadful Haley feels about her situation. At least Diarmuid is warming up not being a prisoner of his past, but we'll see. Let me know what you think, and I look forward to seeing anyone in the next update!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be such an emotional ride, and I hope yall will enjoy it! Going to be so much fun tying up some loose ends of Fate Zero and building these characters up. Let me know what you think! I love feedback of all kinds as long as its said nicely!
> 
> Also, I would like to thank Pikawho for the incredible summary, and all the advice given to help with this fic! Read their work here:
> 
> FF: Psychicshipping and Scarlet-Eyed-Demon


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